


A Place Strange and Stupid

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Friendly Rivalry, Gen, Goalie Problems, Jealousy, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Playoff Debut, jitters, mentoring, places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy helps Petr get rid of the jitters before his playoff debut against the Tampa Bay Lightning. Written per reader request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place Strange and Stupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveforhockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveforhockey/gifts).



“I feel sorry for anyone who is in a place where he feels strange and stupid.”—Lois Lowry

A Place Strange and Stupid

Petr had the jitters. They tore through him in spasms like tremors along a fault line during an earthquake, jerking his head up and down in movements too abrupt to be nods, twitching his fingers as if perpetually afraid to grasp something steaming, quivering his legs like Jello, and shaking his toes as if immersed in ice water. He was grateful that he was kneeling in Jimmy Howard’s Tampa hotel room, because the fact that he was quaking from top to toe was less evident than it would be if he was standing, and if he did give a shake strong enough to knock him onto the floor, not only would the fall be shorter, but it would be muffled by the Saxony carpet beneath his knees. 

He was also lucky, he believed, that the jitters were coming now, since that might mean that they wouldn’t arrive like uninvited guests gate-crashing a wedding when the puck dropped on his first playoff game in the NHL. An NHL playoff game was no place for a jittery goaltender, and Babs had probably been trying to help him by only informing him this morning that he would start for Detroit in the playoffs, most likely figuring that the jitters wouldn’t really have much time to seize him if he didn’t find out until the eleventh hour that he was playing tonight. Babs had also—if Petr’s ears hadn’t developed an active fantasy life, which almost made more sense than what he remembered hearing—told him to have fun. Petr would’ve sworn on the Holy Bible that Babs had never told anyone to have fun with anything ever before that moment, and that only made Petr feel more twitchy, as though he had been trapped in a mirror world where everything was the opposite of what he pictured it would be. 

He had believed up until this morning that Jimmy, as the veteran with playoff experience, would get the start, and Petr would only get a crack at the action as a last ditch effort if all hope for victory in the series appeared to be pst anyway, since everybody knew that you couldn’t hop from goalie to goalie in the playoffs. You had to stick with one, or risk rattling the confidence of both your goalies. The playoffs weren’t the place for making your goalies jittery. 

Now Petr was supposed to be the rock his team could depend on even though he felt weak and wavering as a weeping willow, and he was told to have fun when a more reasonable expectation would be not to vomit all over a fresh sheet of ice. 

“Relax.” Jimmy grabbed Petr’s shoulders in an attempt to stop the shaking. “You’ll be fine tonight.” 

“I bet you hope I won’t be.” Petr’s eyes narrowed, because while it felt comfortable to kneel for Jimmy since only a fellow goalie could understand the struggles, jitters, and quirks that defined not only a net minder’s style and mindset but also his very existence, it also felt like a ticking time bomb as they were in a competition—whether they acknowledged it openly—for starts and the position as number one goaltender on the team. Jimmy was supposed to provide Petr with all the support and guidance that he needed, but could Jimmy be trusted to always do that when it was as if he was grooming his own replacement who might seize the reigns before Jimmy was ready to hand them over? “It’s your place I’m taking, isn’t it?” 

“You’re forgetting your place.” Jimmy scowled and delivered a firm swat to the seat of Petr’s jeans which meant that Petr had once again crossed the line separating boldness from insolence. Petr hadn’t really meant to; it was just that places on this team for him and Jimmy, far from being permanent and well-defined were nebulous and tenuous, seeming as solid as steel one instant and then fading like a desert mirage the next. They spoke of places as if they were concrete things that could be lost like sand swallowed by an ocean or forgotten as a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea, but the truth was their places couldn’t be seen or touched, just felt and how they felt was different every day. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jaw jutting out in a mixture of rebellion and petulance, Petr rolled back on his heels, protecting his backside from any further assaults. 

“Because it was stupid.” Jimmy exhaled gustily, stirring the hair along Petr’s forehead. “You know that I want what’s best for the team, whether or not I’m in net, and I always cheer for you when you’re in it.” 

‘Sorry.” Biting his lip, Petr burrowed his head into Jimmy thigh, repentant but also selfishly hoping that burying his face in Jimmy would soothe some shakes out of him. Shaky wasn’t something he could afford to be, not when everything around him was already so unsettled. “I know you do, and I’m not trying to steal your place or anything like that.” 

“You’re just trying to establish your place in the league.” Jimmy’s hand rumpled his hair and then drifted downward to massage the nape of Petr’s neck. “It was the same for me when I was breaking into the NHL under Osgood. It’s harder for us goalies than it is for forwards or defensemen, because only one of us can start every night.” 

“I’m grateful for all the advice you give me.” Petr riveted what he regarded as his most charming smile on Jimmy to make up for his earlier impertinence. “Got any suggestions for how to get rid of these jitters?” 

“Humph.” Jimmy snorted, cuffing him on the back. “You sounded more arrogant than jittery when you were accusing me of being jealous that you’d taken my place for the playoffs.” 

“That’s just the jitters talking.” Petr’s fingers and toes fidgeted with the carpet as he thought that one thing Jimmy had never quite been able to grasp about him was that when the jitters took hold of him, he tried to act assured even when he was a quivering mass of nerves from top to toe, because the last thing he wanted his teammates and coaches to believe he was would be a twitcher. Coaches and teammates couldn’t touch a twitchy goaltender. They had to be convinced that his confidence wouldn’t be jolted like a tower of Jinga blocks by bad goals or bad games. They had to fall for his cultivated illusion that he was unshakeable. “I’ve got to make people believe that I don’t have the jitters even when I do.” 

“Just keep making people believe that you don’t have the jitters even if you do.” Jimmy emitted a raspy chuckle that caused Petr to imagine gravel whacking the sides of a rusty bucket. “You’re better at that than I am.” 

“It’s my first playoff game.” Petr clutched at his scalp, tempted to yank out chunks of hair so that he could focus on that pain instead of his impending playoff debut which loomed larger in his mind with every tick of the clock on the nightstand that brought that slice of the future closer to being the present. “What am I going to do?” 

“Outplay Bishop the way you outplayed me to earn this role.” Jimmy tugged Petr’s fingers away from his head before he could inflict any harm on himself. “Easy enough.” 

“Easier said than done.” Petr folded his hands, which he couldn’t trust to behave, together so they wouldn’t attack himself again. Cocking his face sideways as he glanced anxiously up at Jimmy, he asked in barely more than a whisper, “If I outplay Bishop, will we win the game?” 

“Hopefully.” Jimmy brushed away strands of hair that had been sticking to Petr’s sweaty forehead. “If we don’t, it won’t be because of you, and you’ve got to concentrate on what you can control, and let the skaters worry about what they have power over. When you begin concerning yourself with things that you have no influence upon, you get distracted and let him bad goals. In the game, just focus on yourself and what you can do to help the team win, because that’s really all you can do to try to bring about the victory.” 

“That’s a challenge for me sometimes.” Petr’s cheeks were flushed, because he hated to admit any mental vulnerability. 

“Not tonight.” Jimmy assumed a borderline prophetic manner as if he were privy to visions of the future that Petr was not. “Tonight you’ll keep you’ll be focused and confident because now is your time and place to shine.”


End file.
